


In Love and War

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Discussion of Homosexuality, Duty, Family, Father & Son - Freeform, Fealty, Gen, Honor, Love, Peace, Politics, mother & son - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 13:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15120356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Roald comes to terms with Jon's treason in crossing the Drell. Set during In the Hand of the Goddess.





	In Love and War

In Love and War

“They crossed the Drell without my permission,” Roald raged. Resisting the burning desire to fling his bejeweled chalice of Tyran red wine at the tapestries of tournaments covering the stone wall, it occurred to him that he had seldom been more furious since his coronation. “Was I unclear in my orders that under no circumstances were we to cross the Drell?” 

Roald had hoped to defend what he regarded as Tortall’s side of the Drell and negotiate an agreement with Tusaine where Tusaine would be content to remain on what had been their bank of the river before Roald’s father had seized it as he had so much land from neighboring countries. It had been an uphill struggle waged in mud and rain for Roald to convince the kingdoms bordering them that he had no intention of stealing their territory as his predecessor had. 

In the matter of land adjacent to the Drell, Roald wasn’t even inclined to protect his father’s conquests. Better to yield the ill-gotten gains of his father’s ceaseless conflicts and prevent future wars from flaring with a Tusaine that would be desperate and land-locked without access to the Drell. Yet his own beloved but impulsive son had defied him and undermined his efforts without appreciating the scope of them for a stalwart but ultimately small squire. It was galling and enough to make Roald almost wish that he could cut as intimidating a figure as his father had. Nobody—not family, not an enemy—ever challenged King Jasson the Conqueror with impunity because they knew they would be stomped beneath his boots like a beetle. It turned out there were some advantages to being a tyrant. 

“You were clear as crystal.” Lianne unfurled his fingers from his goblet and set it delicately on the cedar table before Roald could stain any tapestries. “I don’t think Jon intended to spite you. He just felt compelled to rescue his squire. It must have been a clash of loyalties to him, my dear.” 

“Regardless of Jon’s intentions, Your Majesty, he’s given us an advantage which we should press when negotiating terms of the treaty King Ain is now clamoring to sign.” Gareth spoke crisply and practically as ever. He didn’t sound distressed. Indeed there might even have been a vague undercurrent of grim satisfaction—Gareth had advocated for a more aggressive front against Tusaine, and Jon had unwittingly fulfilled his desire more than Roald had—in his voice that made Roald seethe. 

“You’re very sanguine for someone whose only son could be beheaded for treason,” snapped Roald, hating himself for echoing the father who had seen quick to snarl and slap. 

“Roald.” Lianne fixed him with her most reproachful brown gaze. She doted on her Naxen nephew and didn’t take kindly to any threats against him, even ones Roald would never have carried out as long as the sun rose in the east every morning. “We’re all family here. Please try to remember that.” 

“I’m certain Gary was only acting on Jon’s orders.” Gareth arched an eyebrow. “Doubtlessly he—and his compatriots—believed himself to be following a royal command. We could summon him if you wish to question him yourself, Your Majesty.” 

“That would be a waste of time.” Roald scowled, thinking that Gary was too smart to reveal anything of which Roald wasn’t already aware. Having clever nephews could be an unending source of frustration and headaches. 

“Then if we aren’t going to behead our sons—a rather pyrrhic victory at best—perhaps we might discuss the terms we would seek in a treaty with Tusaine?” Gareth finished his wine and returned his gleaming golden chalice to the polished cedar table. “I’m of the opinion that if your opponent stumbles and impales himself on his own sword, you don’t dither but press your advantage.” 

Noting inwardly that he could hardly expect the King’s Champion to offer any other perspective, Roald steepled his fingers as he stipulated, “Insist that Tusaine forever forsake any claim to the lands by the Drell conquered by my father, but give them an incentive to avoid strife with us by granting Tusaine unencumbered passage and tariff-free trade along the river in times when peace prevails between our realms. It is my will that the legacy of this war be a lasting peace rather than an encouragement to more violence.” 

“As you will, Your Majesty.” Gareth bowed and departed, leaving Roald with the distinct yet impossible to pinpoint impression that Gareth would have preferred to punish Tusaine more harshly for provoking war with Tortall. 

“We must summon Jon”—Roald addressed his wife in resignation, dreading the prospect of confronting the son who had betrayed him and the kingdom—“before he goes stir-crazy in his chambers.” 

Unable to face the heir who had committed treason and broken Roald’s heart with his defiance, Roald had banished Jon to his quarters upon his arrival at the palace, but Jon would be chomping at the bit to escape his confines. 

“Before we summon him, I would talk to you about a report I heard from my spies among the soldiers.” Lianne fiddled with a diamond ring in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. “Among the soldiers, there were whispers that a sentry had spotted the Crown Prince kissing his squire as they rode back from the healing tents at dusk.” 

“A sunset kiss. How romantic.” Roald snorted his disdain for soldier gossip and rumormongering spies. “Are we going to believe every scurrilous, unfounded rumor about our son?” 

“What if it’s not a rumor?” Lianne’s ring continued to circle her finger fretfully. “What if it’s true?” 

“Then it’s nothing to worry about, my love.” Roald reached forward to still her anxious toying with her ring. “My father always said that men can get lonesome for women at war and use one another like women without being interested in men, if you’ll forgive my vulgarity.” 

Once Roald had imagined that he would have to shield his wife, who seemed so frail, from the evil realities of the world, but he had discovered over the years since his marriage to her that she was in many ways stronger and more pragmatic than him. He suspected that it was the steadfast Naxen blood in her. She proved her courage yet again by not flinching at his crass comment and replying, steady as a stream, “If you’ll pardon my saying so, darling, Jon has never seemed to be attracted to any of the court ladies. I think he may indeed be in love with his squire. Of course, if he were, he would still have to maintain appearances by charming the court ladies, but we might turn a blind eye to any indiscretions with his squire that transpired behind closed doors.” 

“I would expect him to marry a bride you choose for him for politics and to carry on the Conte lineage.” Roald squeezed Lianne’s fingers, thinking that Jon would never have been allowed to marry for love even if his affections had been for court ladies rather than his squire. His son’s feelings for his squire weren’t too much of a complication, and part of Roald found it easier to stomach his son’s disobedience if it had been done for love. After all, Roald would have done anything for the love of his life, Lianne. Love was the death of rationality, proportion, and even duty. It was un uncontrollable force that could dominate your destiny without you being cognizant of it. “Beyond that, I would permit him to indulge himself with his squire without my interference.” 

“Thank you for accepting our son as he is.” Lianne favored him with the smile that was the sunlight of his world that revolved around her pleasure.

“I can understand how love could drive a man to madness.” Roald in fact found it easier to accept the idea of his son, like him, being a fool for love than the disconcerting notion that his son might more resemble his father than him, the man who had raised Jon from birth according to his values, not his father’s. No longer irate at his son but just weary to the bone, he massaged his temples. “I suppose we ought to summon Jon now if you’ve nothing else to discuss with me first.” 

When Lianne raised no objection, Roald dispatched a servant to fetch Jon. Moments later, Jon was bowing before them and kissing his mother’s ring. Watching his son’s charmingly formal greeting, the fist clenched in Roald’s chest continued to relax at the sight of his boy trying to flatter himself out of trouble as he had ever since he learned how to talk and flash his milk teeth in a glittering grin. 

Still he had to be stern to discourage future acts of treason from his son. With that thought at the forefront of his mind, he kept his face and tone hard with disapproval as he pronounced, firing each word like an arrow, “You led a raid on the far side of the Drell in defiance of my orders, complicating the peace process…” 

“I didn’t complicate the peace process, Father.” Jon sputtered an indignant protest. “I aided it. We’re on the cusp of a peace treaty with Tusaine because of my raid.” 

“Don’t contradict your father, Jonathan,” scolded Lianne. “It’s disrespectful.” 

When Jon ducked his head at the reprimand but didn’t retract his rebellious statement, Roald took a deep breath to prevent himself from raising his voice at his son. He wouldn’t match Jon’s temper with his own nor would he storm at his family as his father had. Only when he could speak levelly did he respond curtly, “That is your interpretation, son. Those weren’t your orders.Your orders were to remain on our side of the Drell.” 

“Both sides of the Drell are ours, Father.” Jon’s chin lifted obstinately again. “Our soldiers and I haven’t forgotten even if you have.”

Ignoring his son’s insolent interruption, Roald plowed on with his lecture, “You committed treason—betraying your country and me—for one small squire.” 

“That small squire saved my life during the Sweating Sickness.” Jon’s hushed tone wouldn’t have been out of place in a temple, and Roald winced at the reminder of how close he had come to having his son claimed by the Black God. “I owe him my life. All the laws of honor and fealty forbid me from abandoning him to death after that.” 

“You love him.” Roald stared into his son’s blue eyes which were so like his and his father’s, generations of cerulean gazes warring with each other even as they loved one another in a confusing testimony to the famous Conte passion. 

“You wouldn’t understand the relationship between Alan and me.” Jon’s cheeks flamed and he gnawed at his lip as if tearing meat at a banquet. 

“I understand well enough.” Roald patted Jon’s flushed cheeks to remove any sting from his words. He didn’t want his son to feel rejected even if his tastes were unconventional. “You mustn’t put your love for your squire before your duty to the realm ever again, and you’ll have to start flirting with the court ladies and ultimately wed a woman we select for you, but behind closed doors, you may enjoy any relationship you wish with your squire.” 

Jon hesitated and then agreed in a manner that foreshadowed future argument, “I’ll begin flirting with the court ladies, Father, and we can discuss the woman I will marry later.” 

“Good.” Roald clapped his son on the shoulder, content to push that debate down the road and reconcile with Jon. “Then we can put this incident behind us, because as my father used to say, all is fair in love and war, and I suspect you’re more the embodiment of that saying than I ever will be, Jon.”


End file.
